


Anatomy of a Decline

by anr



Category: Earth 2
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-16
Updated: 2013-06-16
Packaged: 2017-12-15 04:00:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,461
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/845060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anr/pseuds/anr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five early symptoms of her sickness that Devon ignored.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anatomy of a Decline

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TanyaReed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TanyaReed/gifts).



> Request: John and Devon, arguing, sex.

  


* * *

  


**1.**

It's the weather, she knows. The air here is still hot and dry -- a steady bake that dehydrates almost faster than their newfound water supply can handle -- and they're all a little thirsty, a little over-heated.

"So warm..." Danziger mutters, his hands heavy on the planes of her back.

She's having trouble concentrating on anything past the slow roll of his body beneath hers, the drag of his fingertips on her spine, but she eventually manages a distracted, "hmm?"

"Your skin." Eyes closed, he shakes his head, a furrow appearing as he nears release (she's learning to read him better these days, learning _him_ ). "Too warm -- I don't -- why --"

"Shh," she breathes out, not wanting to talk (they'll only end up arguing again if they do, end up right back here, hot and sweaty and, oh, _there_ ). She arches her back.

He groans.

He groans and pushes hard on her hips, holding her still while he grinds up (and, _oh_ , he's been learning her, too, clearly) and then he's right, he's right, she is hot, she's _burning_ \--

She kisses him until they both forget about the heat.

  


* * *

  


**2.**

She drops the mug.

Surprised, she stares at her hand, at her fingers; fine tremors running down her arm and setting her limb to an unsteady waver that is --

"Mom?"

"Eat your supper, Uly," she says automatically, not turning around.

Below her hand, she can see the mug resting on its side on the ground at her feet, a couple drops of water dotting the side of her boot.

"But I'm _thirsty_!"

Before she can answer him, Danziger's voice pierces the bio-dome. "You heard your mom, kid. Eat. True? Sit." A second later, she watches John's hand scoop the mug up off the ground and press it to her chest as he passes her. "Here."

She fumbles with it until it's in her left hand and not her suddenly traitorous right. "Thanks," she manages.

"Sure," he says, reaching for a couple of plates. He starts piling food on them for True and himself and she finds herself watching his hands, suddenly envious of their steadiness. He glances over his shoulder and frowns at her. "You okay?"

She nods, once, and forces herself to step forward, to stand next to him. As she does, she realises that her hand is now still again, fingers tremor-free. She makes a fist, just to be sure, and smiles. "Yeah, fine."

She reaches for the water container.

  


* * *

  


**3.**

She's not the first one to get a headache from the snow -- winterglare, Julia calls it, pressing a hypoderm into Devon's hands and telling her to go lie down for a couple of hours -- and she won't be the last but, right now, with her head feeling like it's trying to shatter into a million tiny pieces of jagged glass, neither of those facts is any consolation.

Swaying a little from the pain, she manages to get back to her cot without having to talk to anyone else -- and thank goodness Yale has the kids this morning; she can't even imagine coping with their bickering right now -- and she's tugging at her coat and trying to toe off her boots so she can curl up and _die_ (or sleep, whichever will put her out of this misery the fastest), when the door to her and Uly's cot-room bangs open and John stamps inside.

"Damnit Adair, how many times have I gotta te--" He stops mid-word and blinks at her in surprise. "What're you doing?"

 _Dancing_ , she thinks, trying unsuccessfully to shake her arm free of her coat sleeve, _what's it look like?_ But all that comes out is a frustrated, pained whimper that, should she live through this (and that's highly, _highly_ unlikely at this point), she's probably going to be horribly embarrassed by later on and -- _hey_ , what on earth does he think he's _doing_?

Deftly ignoring her slapping hands, he removes her coat and boots with all the pain-free efficiency she'd been lacking and helps her down so that she's curled up on her side on her cot.

"Hypo?" he asks softly, his voice a whisper of its previous volume, and she waves a weak hand towards her coat.

Picking it up, he pulls the drug dispenser out of the pocket. "Neck?"

She nods.

The last thing she remembers -- aside from the blinding, nauseating _pain_ \-- is the feel of his hand, solid and warm on the side of her neck.

"Sleep," he orders her.

She sleeps.

  


* * *

  


**4.**

Her fatigue catches her off-guard, a bone-deep exhaustion that lingers no matter how much rest she gets the night before. She knows she's a little out of shape after the long winter spent hibernating in the bio-dome, they all are, but nobody else seems to be struggling with the resumption of their journey this much. She feels like she could sleep for _years_ if given half a chance (and a cryo-tube) and if that's not a disconcerting enough wish, she doesn't know what is.

Tugging at John's jacket -- he and Bess might have helped to bring Spring to G889, but the weather still had a ways to go at warming up the planet -- she realises, a little distantly, that he's still arguing his point.

"Danziger," she says, as slowly and patiently as she can, " _shut up_."

He frowns at her, hands settling heavily on her shoulders. "Did you even hear what I just said?"

 _Did she?_ With his jacket finally undone, she moves her fingers to his shirt. "John," she says, "I'm tired. We walked twenty-odd miles in the rain today, the kids started _two_ mud-fights after dinner, I have spent the last hour charting tomorrow's path and, unless _somebody_ starts thoroughly distracting me, I am probably going to fall asleep in the next five minutes and sleep until we reach New Pacifica."

He still looks cranky. "Somebody, huh?" he repeats.

"You," she says, letting him turn and push her against one of the trees on the camp's outskirts. "Only you. _Definitely_ you."

"Hmph." His hands leave her shoulders, fingers sliding south across her skin. "This conversation isn't over, lady."

Her body comes alive under his touch, her fatigue dissipating. She relishes the sudden energy. "Tomorrow," she promises, and pulls his body into hers.

It proves to be _extremely_ distracting.

  


* * *

  


**5.**

She's concerned when Julia tells her some of the others are reporting headaches and tiredness, worried when Uly wakes in the morning with the traces of a fever that won't quit, but it's not until she sees Alonzo fumble and almost drop his magpro while on his way to sentry duty that a cold, hard pit of fear begins to form in her stomach.

The camp -- they shouldn't be feeling like this, she knows. Not like this. Not like _her_.

On the outskirts of the tents, she lets John lean into her as they stand beside the transrover, the tyre's heavy treads cutting into her shoulder-blades.

"I'm scared," she admits lowly.

He shakes his head. "It's just a bug, Adair. Kid's'll be fine."

True fell asleep during dinner, almost face-planting into her bowl. When Danziger picked her up afterwards and carried her over to their tent, Devon saw the beginnings of dark circles under her eyes.

"Used to see it on the Stations all the time. Someone'd be coughing one day, the next day it'd be half the Zone. Would burn through in a day or two and everyone'd be fine again." He presses closer to her. "Surprised it's taken us this long, all of us living in each other's pockets for so many months now."

"This is different," she argues. Or is it? Is _she_ their someone? Has she caused this? Is she contagio--?

No.

Her illness... it doesn't work like that, she knows. _Not like this_.

"We'll be fine," he repeats.

"And if we're not? If tomorrow you're sick? And Julia? Morgan? Walman? Baines? At what point do we --"

"I'm fine," he says. "You're fine. We're all fine. Stop worrying."

"But --"

He kisses her, slow and steady, his mouth sealing over her protests, her fears. His palms curve to her sides, fingers warm above her ribs and her thready, racing heart.

When he pulls back, her lungs are straining -- _hurting_ \-- for oxygen and she looks up at him, breathless.

"See?" he whispers, the shadow of a smile on his lips. "Fine."

She wants to believe him. For his sake -- for Uly's sake, True's sake, _all_ of their sake's -- she wants to believe him.

He kisses her again.

"Okay," she manages, distracted, as his mouth moves to her jawline, to her neck. Her hands are shaking and she wraps her arms around his neck so he won't notice, her fingers tangling in his hair. "Okay."

Fine.

  


* * *

The End


End file.
